You Know I Can't Love You
by AugustApollo
Summary: They kept up their charade, their dance, their cycle and though it tore them both apart inside, they knew they could never stop. They would rather endure the pain of never being close enough, never being together because it was still a lot better than trying to live without the other.


**Author's Note: Hello, dear readers! This is my first Avengers fan fiction, and I absolutely ship Clintasha. I've read so many amazing fics about them, and I decided to throw in my own version based on what I think their relationship is like. Reviews are much appreciated, whether positive or negative. Although I do prefer positive. ****This story was inspired by _"Love love love" _by _Of Monsters and Men. _It's an awesome song. I do suggest you give it a listen so you'll really feel the mood of the story. **Thank you and enjoy!

* * *

She descended the grand staircase as a vision in red and eyes turned to see the beautiful duo that entered the room. Steve Rogers ditched his Captain America suit for the night, and opted for a well-fitted suit courtesy of Iron Man, or to be more specific, his girlfriend's insistence. As Natasha extended her hand to him to assist her in descending the stairs, she held a well-practiced smile on her face, a mixture of gentleness and seduction. Her sight ran across the room, trying to spot their target. Just as she and Steve landed on the last step, she found him.

"I see him." Natasha whispered, still smiling, to Steve, who kept the poised, charming grin on his face. He nodded, releasing her hand from his grip and encircling it around his arm.

"Do you need help?" he asked. She laughed gently, a genuine one and rolled her eyes at him.

"That's nice, Cap, but I've got it." Her slightly husky voice showed her dry humor. He shrugged, always the gentleman.

"Alright then. Just tell me if you need a hand." Steve said, leaving her at the center of the floor, just a few feet from her target, motioning as if to get himself a drink.

Black Widow was on another mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. She and Hawkeye were tasked with taking out a politician who was secretly plotting a nuclear war with Kaddafi against the United States of America. Barton was, no doubt, hovering somewhere above the room, hidden from plain sight and keeping an eye on everything. The mission was very simple, and does not concern the Avengers. It just so happened that the politician they were after was attending Tony Stark's birthday celebration in the Stark Towers, to which all the Avengers were invited. Apparently, their target was planning on making a business deal with Stark and using his weapons in the attack against the United States. S.H.I.E.L.D. briefed all the powerful misfits after they agreed to be present in the event.

As Tony made his way to the stage for a celebratory speech, Natasha set her eyes on her target and lured him in with a shy smile and hair twirl. Half an hour into the party and she had him completely wrapped around her finger. This had to be the easiest job yet. She batted her eyelashes at him over drinks at the bar, and he went weak immediately. It was shameful really, considering he was a high-profile politician.

"Are we on for later?" she cooed seductively at him, tracing the rim of her martini glass with her pointer and tucking a loose luck of hair behind her ear. The politician gave her a reply, but the one she waited on was heard directly in her ear.

"Let's just get this over with, Nat." Hawkeye's voice resounded in her in-ear communications device. "I don't want to waste a perfectly good tuxedo by waiting up here all night." He was waiting in the shadows of the floor above hers, bow at the ready. He was supposed to swiftly and silently interrogate the man then deliver him to the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents waiting at the back door. If he saw any signs of trouble or danger, he had orders to execute the man, and deliver him to the agents nonetheless. It was a hilariously easy job. It was so easy in fact that he, a trained sniper, was losing patience and interest.

"Oh, don't be silly." She said, reaching out to the flustered man in front of her. Natasha fixed his bow tie for him and traced a dainty finger across his cheek, earning an embarrassing blush from the elder fellow. "You look fantastic."

"You've only seen me in a tux a few times, but thanks." He chuckled in her ear, and from a distance, he could see the ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. They've been partners for so long that he was he could distinguish if she was talking to him, or her target. "You, on the other hand, do look absolutely stunning."

This earned a full blown smile from Natasha, poor man thought she was smiling at him. She looks so beautiful, it was a wonder the man wasn't knocked on his knees for her. But he soon will be, literally. From his perch above, he could see her discreetly leading him away from the party and to his inevitable doom. Moments later, Hawkeye met them at a secluded hallway, where the man was trying to get it on with Natasha, who successfully held him back gently.

"Excuse me, son. Could you give us some privacy?" the intoxicated politician lifted his head from Natasha's neck and slurred at Clint.

At that, he nodded at her and she knocked him out with a single punch.

"You could have done that sooner, you know." Hawkeye told her as he lifted the unconscious man over his shoulder. "You didn't have to wait for me."

"I waited it out because I didn't want to ruin the dress." Replied the Black Widow, running her hand over the creases of her outfit. "It's Versace."

He simply chuckled at her and started making his way to the interrogation room. Natasha, on the other hand, went back to the celebration.

* * *

She kept mostly to herself, disgusted by the lustful looks thrown her way, or rather, thrown at her cleavage. It was only when a buzzed Thor found her by the bar and very nearly lifted her off the seat and on to the dance floor, when she started feeling just a little bit less of a party pooper.

She wasn't an emotionless killer, contrary to what many may think. Yes, she can be a mindless assassin, but she also has a dry sense of humor and indulges in a few good times now and there. Her boss was a comedian with a funny twang when he talks, and she's tied to a team of misfits that's mischievous when they aren't destructive. She was still human, even though her humanity was slipping away slowly. The world was not black and white.

In the middle of a rather humorous conversation with Thor and Bruce, Natasha sees Clint. He's on the other side of the room, dressed in a tuxedo similar to all the other tuxedos in the room, and talking up a curvy blonde. Something in her stomach clenches and Natasha chastises herself for this irrational feeling.

"Stop it!" She screams in her head, maintaining a perfectly composed exterior. "You both chose this!"

She sees her run a hand down his arm and all that's in Natasha's mind are the countless times her fingers ran through his skin and nights he held her tight until it was close to morning. Natasha shook her head discreetly, as if she was shaking her hair from her face. But before she could turn away and cast her gaze elsewhere, he meets her eye from across the room of faceless, nameless, unimportant people. The way he looks at her tells her there's something on his mind, something he wants to tell her, but she refuses to get the message. She breaks off from his stare and return to her conversation.

Later on, Clint sees Steve manage to coerce Natasha to dance with him. It didn't look like too much of a difficulty. She loosened up, she was having a great time. She was happy without him that night. She had a perfect little smirk as Steve spun her around and back to him. From where he stood across the room, she could see her laugh at something as she gripped Steve's shoulder. A part of him stared to wonder, but shrugged the thought away. Clint Barton is not the jealous, clingy, worrying kind, and he had no right to be. She wasn't his, she could take care of herself. And she was with a friend, a friend with the moral compass of Jesus Christ himself, so what the hell was with the green eyed monster in his chest?! Clint sighed.

"I should be dancing with her." He thought. He could feel himself nearing the edge of his restraint. It was one of those days when she was a drug to him, she was the air and the cliff and he could feel himself falling fast. Clint let out a hiss. "Damnit, I will."

Natasha was having a great time. It's been a while since she had a night off and she could just have a few drinks and a few laughs and not have to worry about bad guys and bullets. Steve was a great date, and she was glad she chose him when Fury offered that she take a partner to Stark's birthday party. Steve was a good laugh and he never judged her for all the red dripping from her ledger. He respected her as a woman and as an assassin, not very many people did that. He never expected anything more or anything less from her than what she is, he never expected her to be to always stand for what's right just because she was part of the Avengers.

"If I had a brother, this is probably what he'd be like." She thought, as they clumsily stepped from side to side. Well, he stepped clumsily and she just took his lead so that he wouldn't be embarrassed. Steve was a nice guy, a good team leader and a good friend.

Suddenly, they both stopped in their steps when a hand was placed on Steve's shoulder. It was Barton, and he wanted to cut in for a dance. Always the gentleman that he was, Steve left with a tilt of the head and a polite "Ma'am" in her direction, before he left them and went off to find their other friends.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself." Clint started the conversation as she stepped into his arms, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I am, actually." She said, smirking slightly, looking him briefly in the eyes. "How are you?"

Clint shrugged and stayed silent. Natasha knew something was just picking at his brain, begging to be said. Eventually, he let out a breath.

"So, you and Steve really hit it off now, huh?" his tone was calm and reserved and if he was talking to anyone else, they would think it was an unloaded question, but Natasha knew it was the calm before the storm.

"He's a good guy. I like him." She retorts backs. She knows that wasn't the right thing to say because she's pushing him, but it escapes from her anyway.

"Yeah, he's kept you laughing all night." Clint says, still in that same loaded tone. Natasha knew where he was going with this.

"Don't, Clint." She says, sighing. "I don't want to play this game." He was as good with reverse-psychology as she was. If things went his way, he would keep pushing her until she would break and she would be the one to fall tonight. But Natasha did not want to hide behind games, not now.

"If you have something to say, just spit it out." She said to him, restraining herself from pouring acid into her tone.

"I love you." He said it so quietly that she almost missed it, but she caught it soon enough to stop the retort that was climbing up her throat. He broke first. Clint used to try and reason out that his feelings for her were really just born out of all their time together, all the things they've been through. He said that it wasn't love, just a heightened version of protectiveness and loyalty that, after so long, they mistook as love. When he told her this, it felt like the ground beneath her was crumbling. But she'd never tell him that. And she'll also never tell him that she thought his theory was completely bullshit. Natasha looked at him, unable to look at her, and all her previous frustrations at him melted away. He made her soft, sometimes it scared her.

"And you know I love you." She whispered back in a voice that even he can barely hear. He let out a shaky breath, almost a pained one. Not exactly the reaction you hope to get when you tell someone you love them.

"No, you don't, Natasha." He says, his voice remaining the monotonous calm that was starting to sound dangerous to her. "You think you do, but you don't."

"Don't you dare start this, Clint." Her head snapped to him, tearing glare from the dancing figures behind him, and dared to burn a hole through him.

"One day, you're going to wake up and all our problems will be solved." Clint continued, fixating his gaze far off, deliberately avoiding her.

"Why do you always say that? What makes you think I'm going to be the one to walk away?" Natasha whispered, careful to keep her face composed but letting her irritation seep through her voice.

"Because you don't really love me, Nat." He sighed. It was the tired kind of sigh, like he was reminding her of a sad truth for the nth time. Finally, he turned his eyes to her. "You just feel obligated to me. That, fueled by everything that we've been through together, well, it all makes a pretty strong combo." He looked at her with a blank face that not even she could read. She stared at him, piercing his glare with hers, but she couldn't break through the wall he put around himself.

This frustrated Natasha. She knows he tells himself this because he was afraid for both of them. It helps him justify why they could not be together. She would know because she thinks of it sometimes as well. But Natasha knows him well enough to know that it goes deeper than that. Clint uses it to hide the fact that he believes he's unlovable. And that, more than anything, hurts her. She looks at the wonderful man in front of her and sees nothing but righteousness.

She thought about what he said. She flipped the idea of obligation over and over in her mind like a coin. Was she obligated to him? Yes, she was. She feels the constant desire to protect him and save him, like he did and still does for her. She believes with all her soul that she owes her life to him. But does that mean she doesn't love him? No, obligation does not explain the constant need for him to be safe, the unexplainable feeling of security and belonging she felt when she was with him. It does not explain why they need one another so much. Even when they were not together, she just needs to know that he still existed in this world and that would be just fine. It does not explain how the mere mention of his name was enough to pull her in and out of any mission. It does not explain how he makes her feel like, for even a moment, she was beautiful and kind and intelligent and special and normal and HUMAN. No, she truly loved him and she wished he did not belittle himself or her feelings like that.

The song ended and they stepped apart like two robots. He nodded to her curtly and she did the same, their faces clean of any emotion. They just walked away, going back to two separate corners of the room and did not make any more interactions, as if they were two strangers. Sometimes, he wishes they were.

* * *

But Clint found his way to her room that night, and the lines were crossed once again. He knocked on her door, liquid courage coursing through his veins. He wasn't drunk, not quite at least. He was fully aware of all his actions, but the alcohol gave him the strength to break down the walls he builds around himself whenever he was sober. Clint was tired of holding himself back.

She opened the door, not entirely surprised to see him. Her eyes met his, looking at him in the way that only she could. He saw her pain, but he also saw worry. Clint left everything he thought was right by the door, as she let him into her room. He took her by the waist, as gentle as his calloused, killing hands could, and kissed her. It was soft at first, treading on uncertain ground, a silent request to blur the lines. Natasha voiced her approval as she pulled him closer, tighter, deeper.

They lost themselves in a sea of limbs, lips and, as much as they both did not want to admit, love. He rolled them both over, and hovered over her, supported by his hands that were clutching the sheets by either sides of her head. She lifted her head up, not allowing another second of separation between them, but she quickly pulled away again, pushing her hand on his bare chest. They pulled apart rather hesitantly, catching their breaths as her hand made its way from his chest to his hair, tracing patterns along the way.

"I love you." Natasha said, her voice strong despite her lack of breath. Clint let out a sigh, and leaned down, pressing his sweaty forehead to hers. They close their eyes and stayed still for a long moment, breathing together in silence.

"And I love you." He finally said. Natasha opened her eyes to find him gazing at her with eyes she only sees so rarely. One look at him and she knew that he meant it. No matter how many times he deluded himself into think they weren't in love, no matter all the walls they build between their hearts, no matter all the reasons they always say they couldn't be, deep down, they knew this was real and pure and true. He knows it, she knows it, they both knew it all along and that was not going to change.

She smiled at him and he returned it. It was the few times they both smiled so genuinely that Natasha thought her heart would burst would joy. A soft chuckle escaped Clint's lips as she flipped them over. Her hands pressed into his chest as she peppered his lips and his torso with kisses. Every spot of his skin that her lips touched felt like it was set on fire. He pulled her up to meet his mouth, one hand lost in her hair and other traced the curve of her back. They took one final pause, one more moment of staring at each other, making sure they were in this together. Then, together, they took the plunge into the night.

* * *

He was gone when she woke up. The sunlight hit her face, stirring Natasha from her sweet slumber. She was curled up on one side of the bed with and an arm extended out as if she was holding on to someone very tight, but only white sheets met her eyes. Every trace of Clint's presence in the room was wiped out. The other side of the bed was pulled tight and pressed down, the only creases were the ones made by Natasha's extended arm. His clothes were nowhere to be found and there was no sound of him in the shower either. If only his scent did not linger on her bare body, it would have been easy to dismiss last night as a dream. But she could smell his hair on the pillows and his skin on her skin and Natasha, for the first time in the longest time, she wanted to cry.

"This is your fault." Natasha thinks to herself as she puts on a fresh set of clothes. "This is your fault and his fault because you're both stupid masochists who just can't fucking walk away." She shakes her head at the truth of her thoughts. They both love when they know can't love one another.

He was there when she went down to the Stark Tower restaurant for breakfast, with the rest of the boys and Pepper, seated between Bruce and Steve, immersed in conversation with the outdated soldier. They all looked up as she approached and took a seat between Thor and Pepper.

"Had a good sleep?" Pepper asked between forkfuls of omelet. She didn't know, none of them did, that was evident in her eyes. "You were in a bit later than usual." She continued chewing.

"Yeah." Natasha cracked a flawless smile at her. "Couldn't pass up the chance to sleep with both eyes closed. I don't get the chance often."

"I bet!" Pepper replied, setting her fork down and looking at the assassin. "Do you sleep with a gun or a knife or something?" The woman was so endearing in her sincerity. Just before Natasha could reply, Tony inserted himself into the conversation.

"I was actually hoping you'd take someone from the party and play, Ms. Deceitful." He wiggled his eyebrows at her as he shoved another spoonful of food in his mouth.

"I don't shit where I sleep, Stark." She answered back in her usual indifferent tone, turning her head to the billionaire rather harshly that her fiery hair whipped from her face and her chin stuck high in the air.

"It means she doesn't mix business and pleasure." Bruce said, directing the statement to Steve and Thor who exchanged confused looks. Steve nodded with an "Aaahh" expression on his face and Thor swallowed his food fast to speak.

"That is very wise, Natasha." His booming voice was warm with approval. "It makes you very efficient and provides no complications for a difficult occupation such as yours."

At that, Clint, who remained completely quiet throughout the entire conversation rose to his feet and went to the buffet table to get more food. He returned with a plate full of eggs, bacon and hash brown and a cup full of coffee, and set the food in front of Natasha before going back to his seat and returned to the newspaper he was reading. Natasha successfully hid the surprise she felt inside, even managing a "Thanks" and grabbed her utensils so it looked like she expected him to do it all along. No one else said anything, they've seen more from the deadly duo and breakfast was just a speck compared to other things they've done for each other. At that point, they have been a team long enough not to question things between Clint and Natasha and not to be surprised with the intimacy they shared sometimes.

"Hurry up." He said from behind the paper. "Jet leaves in an hour to take us back to S.H.E.I.L.D."

And the cycle continued, as they found themselves back to Square 1. For the next few days, they would forget about all of it before they dwell on it and drive themselves off the edge. They resumed their dance of pushing and pulling apart and falling back together, it was a dance they've been doing for years and Natasha saw no end to the routine. She looked past Clint, to a family seated a few tables away. They were the perfect bunch, with a little boy and a little girl laughing at something their father said as their mother looked on, restraining her laughter with so much love in her eyes. She realized that was something she will never have and for a moment, Natasha thought she couldn't breathe. She wanted it, but like so many things she wanted, she couldn't have it. I guess this is what heartbreak feels like, she thought.

They would always just be dancing around their feelings, giving in when it was too much to bear and act like nothing ever happened in the morning. Even if they were to fully break their walls down one day, they were in far too deep to ever walk away from the lives they created for themselves. They have made too many enemies, killed too many people, and lived through too much evil to ever live normal lives together, much less start a family. They could never be. It did not matter how much they loved one another. This was her life; this was all she and Clint would ever be.

* * *

"All set?" Steve asked as she strapped herself into her seat an hour later. She gave a thumbs up and the jet made ascended towards the sky. Clint was co-piloting the jet and Natasha gave him a fleeting look from her seat at the back, next to Bruce, as she looked out towards the city below. In a few days, this icy distance between them would melt and they would slowly start falling together again. Natasha knew that one day, they would both be too weak and they would both give in again. For one night, they would pretend they were just two ordinary people who were allowed to live and love and just be, and in the morning, it reality would catch up again.

They kept up their charade, their dance, their cycle and though it tore them both apart inside, they knew they could never stop. They would rather endure the pain of never being close enough, never being together because it was still a lot better than trying to live without the other. In their eyes, they would rather have no future together than have a future apart.

The jet was steady in the air when laughter erupted from the back as Tony finally told a joke that earned a smile from Natasha. Clint looked back, part of him wished he was there to bond with them all, and caught Natasha's eye. He nodded at her, curt and emotionless. She returned it, before returning her gaze to her team mates and focused all her attention to Steve who had taken over the conversation.

Maybe one day, they could find a way to be who they are and be together at the same time. Or maybe this dance was meant to last a lifetime. Neither of them knew. But as of right now, the world was safe, Clint's scent still lingered on her skin as a reminder of last night and the laughter of her dysfunctional team was filling the jet. It was the closest she could get to contentment and happiness. This was a lot more than what she could ever get on her best days, and for now, that was enough.

_"Because you love, love, you, when you know I can't love you."_


End file.
